WHAT'S MEANT TO BE
by mercia12591
Summary: After the witnesses to the consummation leave. Set at the end of 1x13...


**Chapter 1**

**Mary's POV**

Just as he'd previously promised, Francis was impossibly tender with her during the actual act of lovemaking, after all the witnesses of their consummation had departed —she couldn't bring herself to call it _sex_ or _fucking_, not when he touched and kissed her as if she were something precious, his hands reverent, body gentle. The fierce thrusts he'd used on her before were nowhere to be found now, replaced with long, languid strokes that had her trembling and gasping at the sensation and overwhelming beauty of it all.

He was marvelously good at this, but she couldn't help but believe that technique alone didn't account for how he made her feel. No, there was something incredibly intimate about the way he kissed her and the way he caught her gaze, as if reminding her over and over again that he was here with her completely, one hundred percent, and _they_ were on this journey _together._ It wasn't just about pleasure, but about the coming together of two different people into a beautiful and complicated whole.

And yes, it hurt a little bit at first as her virgin body adjusted to the feel of him inside her again after weeks of emptiness and hunger, but she was more than okay with the transitory discomfort, especially since his mouth was on hers and she was finally, finally getting the kisses she'd been yearning for, for weeks. Deep, consuming—hot and passionate, immediate and so, so perfect. She kissed him back, his mouth sweet and giving, filling a need she hadn't realized was so deep. The intimacy of that touch as his mouth moved over hers, with hers, was divine. She curled her fingers tighter into his hair, slid them down the sweat-slick skin of his back, grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper into her.

"Little minx," Francis murmured, his mouth dropping kisses along the delicate line of her jaw, the quivering expanse of her throat. "I love you..."

The torture was delicious—slow, sweet movements of their bodies, giving and taking, hands and mouths everywhere, learning what felt best to each other. Mary loved his mouth anywhere on her body, really, but she liked best when he kissed her lips, his tongue lingering against hers, their breath shared. She found that she liked the gentle way he showed her how to move with him, his hands moving and shaping her body like clay, his voice softly encouraging. During their previous times together she'd learned quickly that Francis nearly lost control when she squeezed her muscles around him as he was buried inside her, and he loved it when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls and nibbled just the right way on his soft lips.

"Such a beautiful girl," he whispered against the shell of her ear, stroking back into her with a deft motion that rubbed against her clit tortuously. "Every inch of you. God, Mary, you have no idea."

Oh, she was pretty sure she did. Nothing could compare to this—nothing. He was giving her the intimacy she craved, the emotion she now knew no one else could ever match.

When she came for the second time that night, it was pure bliss. Francis was wrapped around her, his mouth swallowing her low cries, his arms gripping her tightly as he pressed up inside her two, three more times, quickly following her in release. She breathed heavily against his shoulder, her arms wound around his back, her thighs cupping his hips and keeping him close to her. In that moment she felt intensely vulnerable, and wanted nothing more than to stay where she was, in the comforting circle of Francis' arms. She found that she liked the feel of his weight pressing her down against the bed, liked the security of that pressure, and she nuzzled his throat gently, smelling sex and skin and clean sweat, deciding that it was possibly the best scent she'd ever come across.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, Francis petting her cheek with one thumb, lazy strokes that told her as clear as words that he was still here with her, still loving her. His heartbeat raced against hers, chest to chest, and she could still feel him buried inside her—exactly where he belonged.

When he shifted, preparing to move, she only clutched him tighter. "No," she protested, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him close again.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," he soothed, leaning back enough to find her eyes. His were pale again, the dark thunderstorm now past, and there was a gentle light in them that Mary found she fully understood without having to ask what it meant. "I know—I understand."

"Please," she said, not knowing exactly what she needed but very certain that she did not want him to move, "please, don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere without you," he promised. "Not now—not ever." He kissed her swollen lips gently, sending a fresh tingle down her spine. "You trust me, remember?"

Yes. Yes, she did trust him, but that didn't mean she wanted to let him go. She locked her arms behind his neck stubbornly, and Francis chuckled.

"Okay, wife," he said, dropping another kiss on her mouth as he slipped out of her and maneuvered their bodies into a sitting position. "You've made your point." He slid his arms around her, holding her as he stood, and carried her into the bathroom.

**To Be Continued**


End file.
